Bonds of Honour
by Tesekian
Summary: When Legolas is sold as a slave, it soon becomes apparent that the man who bought him has a specific purpose for him. If Legolas is to survive he must discover what it is... and quickly. COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

Legolas had given up trying to understand what the humans around him were saying, so it took him a while to realise that the richly dressed arrival was talking about him. He appeared to be arguing with the slaver who watched over the tent Legolas was trapped in, chained to a peg on the ground. Legolas supposed it was a barter over the price.   
  
Legolas wasn't sure if he'd prefer the customer to be a good negotiator and stop the slavers getting too much out of their crimes, or if he'd rather the customer be forced to pay a lot for his purchase.   
  
The man didn't look like the people of this land. His skin, though tanned, was the paler colouring of the northern men. He wouldn't have looked too out of place in laketown There were others nearby who had followed the customer as he arrived. Probably soldiers or bodyguards, though the man himself was well armed.   
  
"Stand up!" the customer ordered in common tongue. Legolas remained sitting on the ground. "Are you disobedient or simply stupid?" Legolas glared.   
  
The slaver said something. Legolas didn't understand the language, but could guess it was some comment about spirit being easy to beat out, or how he could be convinced to turn that pride to his work and prove a useful slave.   
  
"Do you have a name, elf?" Legolas continued to glare. The human's response was unexpected. He reached down and forced Legolas' mouth open. Legolas yanked his head back, trying to bite down on the invading fingers.   
  
"So you have a tongue, you just don't use it." The slaver made more comments. About how a silent slave had his uses, most likely. The customer went back to talking to him and eventually took out a leather purse. Legolas watched with wide eyes as a huge amount of gold coins were counted out of it. He must be paying almost three hundred!   
  
Yet the purse was still heavy as the customer tucked it safely away again. So he was being bought by a rich man. One with plenty of slaves so he could go unnoticed long enough to escape?   
  
The man signalled to some who stood outside. They were dressed not finely, but smartly, in dark browns and greens. Every one of them was armed with sword, bow and dagger. There was no common uniform, but on all their faces was a look of pride that marked them apart from the slavers and prisoners.   
  
As the slaver released the chains Legolas was in from the peg, the men stood waiting. Their leader was looking at Legolas, his gaze matching the proud stare of the elf. Legolas stood, but made no movement towards his new owner.   
  
"Come," the man ordered. Legolas remained.   
  
"Will you walk? Or shall I have my men drag you?"   
  
"I will obey no orders from a man," Legolas said.   
  
"Not today, perhaps," the man said, "but you will." Two of his men came forwards at a hand signal, seizing Legolas' arms firmly. They marched him from the tent and into the blazing heat of the slaver's camp. They had only gone a short distance when the leader motioned to one of the men and spoke quietly.   
  
"Take him back to the camp and secure him, I have further purchases to make."   
  
"My lord?" the man inquired.   
  
"Go, Ethindal. Jarallin, Marken, remain with me." With that, Legolas was steered out of the camp, surrounded by armed men so that he couldn't escape.   
  
Soon they arrived at another camp. This one contained but two tents, with others having to sleep on the bare ground under the sky. The parched land burned beneath the sun, and the men that guarded the camp looked tired and worn. Yet still there was that look of pride in their eyes.   
  
Horses were tethered near a bale of hay, since there was no green food for them to eat. There were two covered wagons nearby, on the edge of the camp. A man was climbing out of one with a barrel.   
  
Ethindal took Legolas to the very centre of the camp, between the two tents, and forced him down until he was sitting on the ground. Then he swiftly removed the chains on Legolas' wrists. Unfortunately, others stood around to make sure Legolas could not escape.   
  
He was surprised by the removal of the restraints, and Ethindal must have caught his expression.   
  
"My lord has no liking for chains," he explained.   
  
"Why do you do this?" Legolas demanded, as the man bound his hands behind him.   
  
"Because my lord ordered me to."   
  
"Do you obey every order your lord gives?"   
  
"I would follow him into fire and war and death, and I would trust him to lead me out again. There is not a man here who would not say the same." Legolas suspected that many in his father's court could not have said that with honesty.   
  
"What has he done to earn such loyalty?" Legolas asked.   
  
"When you come to know him," Ethindal said, "you will know the answer."   
  
"I have no wish to know him."   
  
"There may come a time when you are glad you do."   
  
"Never."   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Only a short opening chapter, but hopefully the next one will be longer. As always, reviews would be greatly appreciated. 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Thank you to all reviewers. In answer to a question, no this isn't a sequel to More than he Seems. There will, however, be a sequel to this one. Probably.   
  
Anyway, I should be able to update quicker in future because exams are over. HURRAY!!! I may need to retake one of the maths ones, and I can never tell about English. I won't mind if I have to retake the English editorial writing exam 'cause that was fun. What? Why is everyone staring at me like I'm a freak?  
  
***  
  
The men's lord soon returned, and the two who had remained with him herded a short line of chained children. There were two boys, of perhaps five and seven, and a girl of about the same age, along with one who was older, nearing the age when she would become a woman, holding another young boy in her arms. Every one of them looked afraid.   
  
So this man they all looked to so gladly was the sort who would steal children away from their innocence. Legolas' hatred for this race only increased.   
  
The children were taken to the centre of the camp, near to where Legolas sat bound, and the men set about removing the chains. Unlike Legolas, the children were not tied again. The lord stood before them.   
  
"I will not treat you cruelly, but I shall expect you to obey instructions from myself or my men. Behave well and you shall be rewarded accordingly." There were no threats, just the hidden implication behind his words. The older girl hugged the young boy closer to herself. Legolas could see the similarities in their faces and guessed they were siblings.   
  
The lord then turned to the man called Ethindal. "Give each of them food and water. Including the elf."   
  
Legolas was parched with thirst, but he made no move to drink from the cup that was held in front of his face. He glared at Ethindal instead.   
  
"You need fear no poison," Ethindal said.   
  
"I do not fear any man," Legolas responded proudly.   
  
"You should. Only a fool does not fear that which is dangerous, and my lord is deadly to his enemies. No man can match him with speed or stealth, no man can match him with blade or bow."   
  
"I am no man," Legolas replied, smiling coldly, "and I will face him if I can, and I will best him."   
  
"I doubt it," Ethindal said confidently, "and certainly you will not do so dying of thirst." Legolas opened his mouth to accept the water, gladly drinking, letting the cool liquid soothe his throat.   
  
That first night in the camp of men was uncomfortable to say the least. Legolas tried and failed to find a position in which he might sleep easily, with his feet tied and his hands securely bound in the small of his back. The ground beneath him was a coarse, rocky sand that cut into his skin.   
  
Somehow he managed to doze, with the stars above as his only comfort. His home was far away, as was his hope.   
  
It seemed he'd been asleep only a moment when a commotion woke him. It was still dark, the position of the stars telling him that it was only just past midnight, but the men were moving about. Some seemed to be just waking, others were moving hurriedly, apparently purposelessly. Legolas struggled to sitting and looked about him, trying to discern what had happened.   
  
"How did this come about?" the voice of the men's lord cut in. He spoke sharply, to a man Legolas didn't know the name of, the youngest of the group. A scrawny-looking thing, barely more than a boy.   
  
"I'm. . . I'm sorry, my lord," the man stammered, looking at the ground, seeming more child-like by this action.   
  
"Tell me, Damial," the lord demanded.   
  
"I don't know, my lord. I was growing tired, so I decided to walk the perimeter of the camp to rouse myself. When I returned to the children, the girl and her brother were missing." Legolas began to smile to himself. If this camp was so poorly guarded that two children could escape unnoticed, it seemed impossible that Legolas wouldn't manage it.   
  
The lord turned to his men. "They can't have gone far," he said, "search for them and bring them back here. Not you, Damial," he added, as the man started to move away, "remain here and watch over these three. Try and keep your eyes open this time." There was no anger in his voice, which surprised Legolas, simply a disappointment that seemed to sting Damial far more painfully.   
  
The lord went to Ethindal and said something quietly to him. Ethindal then set about ordering the search, sending men off in all directions. Others remained on the edge of the camp, stoking up the watch fires to give them better vision.   
  
Legolas thought about the two children, out somewhere in this darkness. He sent a prayer to the Valar that they would be able to hide from the search parties. No one deserved slavery.   
  
The lord noticed Legolas looking at him, and strode quickly to the elf's side.   
  
"Does this please you?" the man asked.   
  
"Yes," Legolas replied, "any slave escaping would please me."   
  
"There are many out there who would take advantage of two stray children. Many who would make far worse masters than I." The man seemed overly confident in his kindness, assuming that being a kind master was enough to allow slavery.   
  
"That doesn't excuse what you do to them."   
  
"I have done nothing. I will do nothing. I do not hurt children."   
  
"Would you hurt me?" The question had escape from Legolas' mouth before he stopped to think about it.   
  
"That depends," the lord replied, "if you did anything to threaten myself or any of my people, I would kill you without hesitation." The man said it with such certainty that Legolas didn't doubt him.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Again, I'm afraid the chapter's short. Sorry about that. Maybe the next one will be longer.   
  
Please review, I can never have enough of those. Comments and criticisms are welcome and flames will be used to keep my hands warm while waiting for the bus. 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: I've noticed a distinct lack of reviews for the previous chapter. Well, if you don't want me to update...  
  
***  
  
Within a few minutes, two of the men returned to the camp. One held the boy, the other guided the girl before him. The boy squirmed in the arms that held him and the girl looked terrified, but neither of them appeared hurt.   
  
"Why did you run away?" the lord asked them. The girl replied using her own language. Legolas didn't understand the words, but could hear the defiance in her voice. The man used the same language, speaking for a perhaps a minute. The other children, roused by the disturbance earlier, were listening intently. One of the boys asked something and the lord turned to him, answering with no sign of annoyance or anger.   
  
Legolas had no idea what he was saying, but it seemed to calm the children. They were looking at each other, almost cheerful at what they were being told. Legolas wished he could understand, but it had never seemed important to learn the tongues of men, aside from the common tongue that was understood almost everywhere.   
  
The man continued form some time, answering questions the children asked. At last he turned away, and the girl took her brother to the others. Neither of them were bound, they simply lay down to sleep.   
  
"What did you tell them?" Legolas asked as the man passed him.   
  
"The truth," was all the answer he got.   
  
"That's not much of an answer," Legolas said.   
  
"I never pretended it was." It was immediately apparent that Legolas couldn't hope to get anything more out of the man tonight.   
  
He ordered his men back to their beds, telling another man to take over as watch.   
  
"My lord," Damial protested, "what happened tonight will not happen again."   
  
"No," the lord replied, "it will not. You will not be allowed to sit watch again. If two children are able to sneak past you undetected, how can you be expected to notice any enemies or thieves?"   
  
Legolas hated being on watch, and knew that most people did too. Almost everyone would like the chance to be allowed off watch, but to be dismissed as useless was worse than sleepless nights. Legolas almost felt sorry for Damial, so put down in front of all the other men.   
  
***  
  
He was roused early the next morning, barely having returned to sleep. The men were swiftly dismantling the camp, loading the tents and supplies in one of the wagons. The children were helped or lifted into the other, and Legolas was taken over to that one.   
  
The men cut the bonds on his ankles to let him walk, but his arms remained tied behind his back. They put him in a corner of the wagon at the front, a loop of rope passing through his bound hands and secured to a ring set into the wagon. His arms were already cramped from being held behind him all night and were now beginning to become unbearable.   
  
The company moved northwards at a fast pace all that day. Legolas tried briefly to undo the ropes around his wrists, but gave it up as futile. The children in the wagon spoke to each other in their own language, no longer afraid. Legolas wondered again what the men's lord had said to them the night before.   
  
After they had been travelling perhaps an hour, one of the boys asked Legolas something, speaking in the language Legolas didn't know.   
  
"I don't understand," Legolas replied honestly in common.   
  
"He asked your name," the oldest of the girls said.   
  
Legolas hesitated. "I would rather not tell you," he said, "because I don't want them to know it." He moved his head in a gesture to indicate the company of men.   
  
The girl let go of her brother, whom she had been cradling, and crossed the wagon to sit close beside Legolas.   
  
"You don't trust them, do you?" she asked in a whisper so that the men driving the wagon wouldn't hear.   
  
"No."   
  
"I'm not sure I trust them either."   
  
"Then help me," Legolas entreated, "and I will help you. We can all escape together." The girl shook her head.   
  
"The man was honest about one thing. I can't look after my brother on my own, and I've no home or family to go to. We'll either die in the wild, or be made slaves to someone else. We have to stay with him, and hope that he's honest about the rest."   
  
"What did he tell you?" Legolas asked.   
  
"That he doesn't like slavery, especially with children. He bought us so that we could be free in his country instead of slaves in our own."   
  
"What country is he taking us to?"  
  
"He didn't say," the girl said, as though the thought hadn't occurred to her. Legolas thought it questioned the man's story. If he had been honest, he would have told them where they were going at once.   
  
"Did he say why he bought me?" The girl shook her head.   
  
She went back to her brother.   
  
"My name is Eltha," she said, "my brother is Marly. This is Hayma," she introduced the girl, "and these two are Jafly and Petry."   
  
"I'm pleased to meet you all," Legolas said, feeling rather rude to not share his own name. It was unlikely that these humans would recognise it, but he didn't want to risk them learning that they had a prince of Mirkwood as their prisoner.   
  
They stopped at midday to rest the horses and for the men to take some refreshment. There was no sign of water nearby, so one of the men took a half-full barrel of water and allowed the horses to drink from it in turn. The men dipped cups into a separate barrel.   
  
The children got out of the wagon and ran around the company to ease cramping muscles. Legolas would have loved to do the same.   
  
Ethindal came up to him with a cup and plate.   
  
"I will release your hands," he said, "but you will not get far if you attempt to flee or fight." Legolas nodded, and the man untied the ropes. Legolas massaged his sore wrists for a moment, surprised that the ropes hadn't cut into the flesh.   
  
Then he set about devouring the food he had been given, a meagre helping of bread and salted meat and a small piece of dried fruit.   
  
"I wish I could enjoy my meals so much," Ethindal laughed, seeing how quickly it vanished, "but after a few weeks of this fare I'm growing desperate for a change." Legolas could understand why, but he'd eaten little enough recently and was very glad of a decent portion.   
  
"I will let you walk around for a while," Ethindal went on, "but your hands are to be bound at all times." The way he said it made it seem as though Legolas had an option, but there was none. His hands would be bound whatever happened.   
  
He held his arms out in front of him, hands together. Ethindal gave a half-smile, then used a gentle hand to imply that Legolas was meant to turn round. There was no strength used against him, but even so Legolas couldn't easily resist. He turned and allowed his hands to be bound behind him and then climbed down from the wagon.   
  
The man remained immediately behind him as he walked through the camp, but Legolas was allowed to choose both pace and direction. All the men were armed and Legolas suspected that if he ran he would feel a blade in his back for the few brief moments he continued to live.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Not much of a cliffhanger, but it'll have to do. 


	4. Chapter 4

". . . misread his expression." Legolas came awake, vaguely aware that voices were speaking nearby.   
  
"He's certainly proud enough," Ethindal's voice said. Legolas remained still, his eyes closed. He might learn something of his captors if they thought him asleep.   
  
"That means nothing," the lord replied, "all elves are proud." So they were talking about him. Legolas wondered what experience of elves the man had that he could make such a statement so confidently.   
  
"Haven't you been told what he looks like?"   
  
"Golden haired and infuriatingly good-looking," the lord said with a laugh, "but the same could be said about most Mirkwood elves." Legolas caught a breath in shock as he heard the name of his home spoken. They must be trying to decide who he was.   
  
"What makes me think it most likely is the fact that he refuses to tell us who he is. But then again, it could just be elven pride. You'd think one of them could give us a name." Legolas puzzled at that comment. One of who?   
  
"You could ask him," Ethindal suggested.   
  
"If I'm wrong he'll almost certainly lie, and if I'm right he's still likely to lie. Mirkwood elves aren't known for their trust of humans."   
  
"So what do we do?"   
  
"Hope he tells us his name. Unless we learn otherwise, we should consider him an enemy."   
  
***  
  
The days passed slowly for Legolas, in a stream of dreary repetitiveness. He tried again to convince Eltha to free him, but she refused. The other children seemed to understand only the basics of the common tongue.   
  
Legolas' days were spent bound in the wagon, his nights bound in the camp. The company travelled northwards, and he searched in vain for any way in which he might attempt an escape.   
  
As they travelled, the terrain changed gradually. They passed small ponds, barely more than muddy puddles where the horses could drink, but eventually they grew larger, surrounded by grass and shrubs that spread further from their source of water than the last.   
  
As water rations grew and the heat became less oppressive, it seemed that there was only one member of the company more depressed than their elven prisoner.   
  
Damial seemed apart from the rest of the men. The duties his lord allocated him were always menial tasks. He was never allowed to do anything of significance.   
  
It seemed to Legolas that it was the man's attitude more than anything else that separated him from the others. They tried to include him in their conversations or card games, but he brushed them aside. Legolas wondered what was going on in his mind, but decided that it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it could be used to his advantage.   
  
One evening, as the company were busying about setting up camp, the lord sent Ethindal and two others to scout their surroundings. Damial asked if he could go as well, saying he wished to be of use.   
  
"Use?" the lord responded, "You hope to be of use as a scout when a child can walk past you unhindered?"   
  
"That was a mistake that won't be repeated," Damial pleaded, "please, give me another chance."   
  
"Not on this journey." Damial didn't appear to notice the implication behind his lord's phrasing, that there would be another journey on which he could prove himself. Legolas didn't mind though. When the scouts departed and Damial brought him his food, Legolas spoke.   
  
"Why do you stay when it's clear they don't want you?" he asked. He saw the hurt on the man's features, and knew that his words were being taken as confirmation of silent fears. "Neither of us wishes to be here," Legolas continued. "Release me, and we can leave together."   
  
"I can't do that," Damial replied, "I am sworn into service."   
  
"Why do you give loyalty to him when he does not return it?"   
  
"If I were to free you, I would truly be failing my lord." Damial walked away. His words were firm, but his face was a mask of pain and sorrow. Legolas felt a little guilty that he had been part of the cause.   
  
Before long, Ethindal and the other scouts returned. They held a discussion with their lord in low voices. Legolas strained his ears to listen, but could only hear a few fragmented words. Finally he gave up, and went back to testing his bonds, just in case they'd loosened since the last time he'd checked them.   
  
He stirred several times during the night, hovering somewhere between sleep and waking. He thought he saw a shadow moving at one point, stealing across the camp on some hidden purpose.   
  
He was woken in the predawn light by a guard's cry.   
  
"Damial is gone!"   
  
Legolas sat up, looking round as the men rose in confusion. He knew that his words had probably caused this. Damial had run because Legolas had convinced him he wasn't wanted here.   
  
The men's lord was awake instantly, ordering his men to prepare for a search, weapons ready. A hint of fear showed through an otherwise emotionless mask.   
  
"Half the group will remain here," he said, "under Ethindal's command to protect the wagons. The rest of you will come with me. We will follow Damial's tracks. He won't have had a chance to get much of a lead on us. Full weapons, everyone."   
  
"Why such a precaution?" one of the men asked.   
  
"There are orcs in these parts," the lord replied, "They would most likely avoid a company as large and well-armed as ours, but they will not hesitate to attack a lone man."   
  
The men hurriedly set about their preparations, and the lord came over to where Legolas sat.   
  
"Is your hatred of orcs enough to overcome your hatred of me?" he asked.   
  
"I don't understand," Legolas replied.   
  
"I will give you a weapon and let you come with me to find Damial, but I need to be sure you will not use the weapon against me."   
  
"I would rather die at the hands of an orc than fight beside you," Legolas spat venomously. The lord stared at him for a moment, then turned away, his face not revealing what he felt, except for the glimmer of fear in his eyes that had nothing to do with Legolas.   
  
As the sun rose over the horizon, preparing for another day of blistering heat, the men left the camp, heading off into the desert. The children were put into the wagon at Ethindal's order, so that they would be safer if an attack came. The news of orcs had filled all the men with a tense energy, waiting to be released.   
  
After a short while, Ethindal cut the ropes around Legolas' legs and took him to the wagon. Legolas suspected it was as much for something to do as to protect him. Certainly, Ethindal kept glancing out in the direction the others had gone.   
  
"I should have gone with them," he muttered, "I should be there to guard his back."   
  
"You don't trust the rest of your company to do that?" Legolas asked.   
  
"I trust them," Ethindal said, "but that's not the same as being there with him. I'm the one who should stand at his side. After all, I'm the one he came to when. . ." Ethindal stopped suddenly. There was a flash of pain across his face and then he turned away, leaving Legolas to wonder about the mysterious event he almost mentioned.   
  
It was several hours into the morning when the men returned. One was limping and leaning on another for support. Another had a deep gash running down one arm, but other than that they seemed unhurt. Except for one.   
  
The men's lord cradled in his arms a battered and bloody form. He set his burden down in the centre of the camp, the men standing round in sorrowful silence.   
  
Damial lay still on the hard ground, his naked body a bloody mess. Dead or unconscious, Legolas couldn't tell.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: A slightly longer chapter, and a slightly better cliffhanger. Keep reviewing, please. 


	5. Chapter 5

"Start a fire!" the lord ordered, "Heat some water! Keep a full guard, there may be some orcs who escaped alive." He knelt beside Damial, and Legolas saw the younger man's chest moving in ragged breaths. A sense of relief filled him and he realised for the first time how worried he'd been. He could have sent that young man to his death.   
  
The lord ordered bandages and herbs to be made ready. The others who were injured were tended quickly, but the lord seemed determined to heal Damial himself.   
  
An anxious crowd stood round him as he cleaned and dressed wounds, lifting Damial's head to pour some concoction down his throat. An hour passed, perhaps more, and at last the lord sat back. Damial was breathing more easily now, much of his body covered in clean cloths.   
  
Legolas found himself relaxing as the men did, when it was pronounced that Damial would live.   
  
"We will remain here until tomorrow," the lord announced, "rest while you can. We leave at dawn."   
  
The children and Legolas were let out of the wagon, and Legolas found himself sitting near Damial. He was sleeping now, strangely peaceful. His face was almost as pale as the bandages he was wrapped in. He looked so much like a child as he lay there that Legolas wondered anew at the cruelty of orcs. He wondered if he should have taken up the human's offer and gone with them to find Damial. Then some of the orcs might be dead because of him. As it was, the only one to suffer because of him was lying beside him now.   
  
Damial's eyes fluttered open, and Legolas was pulled out of his thoughts. If an instant, the human lord was kneeling beside Damial. How he'd seen the minute movement, Legolas couldn't have guessed.   
  
Damial tried to sit up, but a gentle hand held him to the ground.   
  
"Lie still," the lord said, "you've taken quite a beating."   
  
"I tried to fight," Damial said in a pain-laced voice, "but there were too many. I'm sorry."   
  
"Don't apologise. You were outnumbered. Even the best of men cannot fight for so long against so many."   
  
"And I'm certainly not the best of men."   
  
"Why do you insist on comparing yourself to those around you? They are older than you, they have more experience. It does not lessen your skills that they are better than you."   
  
"How do you know who is better?" Damial asked, "You will not let me prove myself."   
  
"Look around you, Damial. These men have fought many battles. They have lived in the wild and learned how to see and pass unseen. We are in lands filled with danger. Is it not natural that I should want to have as my guards and scouts those who have seen first hand what it is we must avoid."   
  
"But I will never see if you don't let me."   
  
"Life will give you plenty of tests, Damial, more than you will want. You will have more than enough chances of proving yourself. For now, let those who are older take the responsibility. A day will come when you are the one who knows best and another young one wants to prove himself, and you will know then why I do what I do now." The lord stood and turned away, but Damial called after him.   
  
"Why did you come after me?"   
  
"You did a foolish thing in running off, Damial, but everyone makes mistakes. I was not about to let you pay for yours with your life."   
  
"Thank you." The lord left then. Having seen what he would do for one of his people, Legolas now understood why they were so fiercely loyal.   
  
***  
  
"Where is it that you are taking me?" Legolas asked later. The company were split, with some relaxing, some standing on guard. The lord had just come over to check on Damial, sleeping beside the prisoner.   
  
"North," the man replied, unhelpfully.   
  
"I know the direction," Legolas said, "I wish to know the destination."   
  
"And I wish to know your name. Perhaps an exchange?" Legolas' glare was all the answer given. He was stubbornly determined not to give this man his name.   
  
"Is your name so precious that you will not share it?" the man smiled.   
  
"I have no wish for my name to be fouled by being uttered by a man such as you. One who would buy children and deal in slaves."   
  
To Legolas' immense surprise, the man gave a low laugh. "You are the first slave I've ever bought," he said.   
  
"Why?" Legolas asked, confused, "Why then did you buy me?"   
  
"I bought you at the request of another. I will deliver you to him."   
  
"Who is he?" Legolas asked, suddenly afraid. Whoever had sent these men must have known exactly where they must go, and so must know exactly who was being brought to him.   
  
"Someone willing to pay a thousand gold pieces for you," the man said, "That is why I would like to know your name. I would like to know who it is that is so valuable."   
  
"So that you know whether to demand more money or not?" The man didn't answer. A thought struck Legolas. He would never have dreamed of this as an option before, but learning that someone would pay so much for him for some hidden purpose made him desperate. He would use this man's greed against him.   
  
"If you release me," Legolas said, "I will see that you are rewarded with twice what you are offered for me as a prisoner."   
  
The man looked at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. "Why should I trust you to do as you say?" he asked finally.   
  
"I give you my word," Legolas answered. That should have been enough, but the man gave a derisive laugh.   
  
"And why should I trust your word?"   
  
"An elf would never break an oath."   
  
The stone mask that had covered the man's face melted for an instant. White hot rage burned beneath the surface. In an action that made Legolas cry out, more from surprise than pain, the man leapt forward and seized his hair, yanking his head back. Strong fingers tugged painfully at blond strands, and for a brief moment Legolas saw hatred flashing in the man's eyes.   
  
"You are a naïve fool to believe that," the man said in a low, menacing tone. Legolas had never experienced anything like the intensity of that gaze, filled with so much anger, rage and pain. Legolas couldn't conceive of anything that could make someone feel such fierce hatred. The eyes bore into him, burning holes right through to his soul.   
  
"An elf will break a promise sworn to one dying," the man said, "An elf will cast aside an oath when the need suits him. An elf will throw away that which he claims to hold dear." The man released his grip then and walked away. Legolas sagged with relief, not to be free of the grasp, but to be free of those eyes. He hoped he never saw emotion like that again.   
  
Some time later, Ethindal came up to him, bearing his evening meal. Legolas looked across to where the lord was talking to one of his men.   
  
"Why does your lord hate elves so much?" Legolas asked.   
  
"He doesn't hate elves," Ethindal stressed the final word. "He hate one elf. The one who broke a promise made to my lord's parents. The one who betrayed him."   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Again, it's a little short, but it's better than not updating at all. Reviews welcome, as always, and they might even convince me to update quicker. 


	6. Chapter 6

"I should not have lost my temper," a quiet voice drifted across the camp to where Legolas lay, unable to sleep.   
  
"You cannot hope to control your feelings all the time," Ethindal's voice answered. He was speaking to his lord, somewhere behind Legolas. The elf lay still, hoping that in the darkness they would think he slept.   
  
"I just have to look at him and the old wounds are torn open," the lord went on.   
  
"Some wounds are not meant to heal."   
  
"You've seen the way he acts." There was sadness in the voice, but it still sounded as though he might be smiling. "So fierce, so proud. Sometimes I could almost be talking to. . ." he broke off. There was a soft sound that might have been a stifled sob.   
  
"You miss them still?" It was more of a statement than a question.   
  
"Not a day goes by that I do not think of them."   
  
There was a short pause, then Ethindal spoke again. "You have lost more than anyone should have to lose, suffered more than anyone should have to suffer. No one blames you if you let go of your control briefly."   
  
"I do," the lord replied, "I cannot afford to lose myself so completely to my emotions."   
  
"Not one of us is perfect, whether elf or human. You are in your own way as proud as our fair prisoner. You refuse to accept that some things are beyond your control. You cannot change the past, you can simply come to terms with it and accept what is gone."   
  
"I can never accept it," the lord simply, "because that means accepting that my family, that which I hold most dear, are gone forever." The conversation ended there. Legolas lay awake for a long while, thinking over what he had heard. For the first time, he almost let himself feel pity for this man who had lost his family. Lost them at the hands of an elf?   
  
***  
  
The company travelled at dawn, with Damial riding in the wagon with Legolas and the children. He was looking considerably better, but his face was still pale and he gasped painfully when the wagon went over any bumps along the way.   
  
"What happened between your lord and the elves?" Legolas asked after a while, "Ethindal mentioned something about one betraying him, but didn't go into details." He hoped that Damial's mind was dulled enough by the pain that he would answer readily.   
  
"I don't know the details," Damial answered, "all I know is that it cost my lord his family."   
  
"Do you know who the elf was?" Damial shook his head. Legolas sighed, deciding that if he wanted to know, he'd have to ask directly.   
  
That night, when the company made camp, Legolas spoke to the men's lord.   
  
"I heard you talking to Ethindal last night," he admitted, "What happened to your family?"   
  
"I do not wish to talk about it, certainly not to a stranger. Why should I give the details of my life to one who will not even give me his name?" Legolas did think he had a point there.   
  
"I may know something of the one who betrayed you," Legolas replied, "I may be able to help you."   
  
"You cannot help me. My family were taken from me along with the one I was to marry. She was with child." He looked at the ground, but it seemed as though his gaze was fixed on some point immeasurably distant. Tears welled behind his eyes, but didn't fall. "I was the only one who knew, and now no one will ever know. My child was murdered before even having the chance to live." The anger and hatred was back in the man's eyes. Legolas could not even imagine the pain he was feeling.   
  
"I'm sorry," Legolas said, feeling as he did so just how inadequate it sounded.   
  
"I do not ask for your pity!" The grief was joined briefly by a flash of anger that was quickly quelled in a rain of tears that almost fell, but didn't quite. Legolas remembered the comments the man had made to Ethindal about keeping in control, and wondered how many seas of tears were locked behind that façade.   
  
"I give you my pity anyway," Legolas said, "though it may be of little value to you."   
  
"It's not of little value," the man corrected, "it's of none." He paused a moment, and his face regained its calm appearance, bereft of the tempestuous emotions that raged within. "Get some rest, elf," he said, "and try to keep your thoughts from other people's business."   
  
He left then, and Legolas sat for a few moments with his thoughts surrounding him like a cloak. He found it hard to accept that any elf was capable of something so foul as what the man described, yet his eyes were unmistakable. Everything the man spoke of had happened as he said. No one could falsify such violent emotion. Legolas knew from his history that elves had in the past committed foul deeds, but those events seemed so long ago and distant that they were unconnected with the life he knew.   
  
This elf the man had known was a disgrace to all his kindred. Had the elf been before Legolas now, the young prince would have been tempted to exact justice for the death of a woman and her innocent child. If he ever met this demon in fair skin, Legolas decided that he would do just that.   
  
Legolas looked across at the man, busy giving orders to his men. How had he coped with such a loss? Or perhaps he hadn't coped, as his violent reaction to Legolas had indicated.   
  
He had mentioned Legolas reminding him of someone. The treacherous elf? Anger flared inside Legolas for a moment at such a comparison, then realised that one who rarely saw an elf was certain to be reminded of such a horrific history.   
  
"You would do better to forget your curiosity." Legolas had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed Damial approach him amid the bustle of the men's camp.   
  
"He never talks about his past," Damial went on, "except sometimes to Ethindal. I only know a few fragments of his history, and the same could be said of any of the others here. You're unlikely to discover what his friends and comrades cannot."   
  
"How can you accept a man as your lord if you know nothing about him?"   
  
"I know that he cares far more for his people than for his own personal power or wealth, and that is something many could not claim. I know that he would risk his life for a single man, woman or child of his realm, and that makes me glad to follow him. You saw how he was when I was in danger. He is like that with all, even those for whom he's not responsible."   
  
He smiled slightly, "Besides, there are those who know his past and they are satisfied with his every claim of lordship. He is of noble birth, there's no doubt of that, the last of a great bloodline. I doubt there will be any to follow him." If the man still grieved for a bride lost perhaps years ago there was little chance that he could come to love another in her place. Legolas suspected that Damial was right.   
  
Around him the camp was preparing for the night, men laying out bedrolls or taking up watch positions on the outskirts. Ethindal came and bound Legolas' legs as usual, and the elf lay down in an attempt to sleep. As usual the ground beneath him made that very difficult. He shifted for some time trying to find a comfortable position, until his hand came across something he had been hoping for from the beginning: a piece of rock with a jagged, sharp edge.   
  
His fingers closed tightly around this treasure and he shifted once more so that his body lay between his hands and the camp's one fire. In the shadow beneath his back his hands moved back and forth until his muscles were aching from the repetitiveness. The stars moved in their ageless dance above the sleeping men, and still Legolas' fingers worked, severing chords with agonising slowness.   
  
Then the last strand gave. With a sudden snap his wrists were free.   
  
Without moving, he took care to note where the men were, seeing guards hovering in the shadows far from the fire, now burning low. It was difficult, even with elven vision, to tell whether they were facing him, but he thought it was safe. He shifted once more, trying to look like one stirring slightly in sleep, until his hands were against the ropes around his legs.   
  
He worked at the ropes tediously, every moment alert for an outcry as someone saw what he was up to. Minutes stretched and were distorted into hours as he worked, untying and cutting as he could. The men wandered on their watch, as the prisoner steadily freed himself.   
  
When the ropes finally fell away, he took stock of the guards. There was no sense in wasting all this effort. He moved as cautiously as he was able, aware that any sharp movements would snap their attention to him.   
  
The short distance to the edge of camp might have been leagues. He didn't dare to stand. He had to be careful least he knocked stones together or broke a twig. These humans didn't have elven senses, but they might still here. Silently as a shadow, Legolas crept onwards, scarcely daring to breathe.   
  
So many times he couldn't count, he was forced to freeze and wait, lying close to the ground, as one of the men cast their gaze across the camp. Every time he had to hope he would seem just another sleeping man, then inch forwards again once the gaze moved on. Often he thought that the sun would have risen before he was even halfway out, but somehow he made it.   
  
He reached the edge of the firelight, a thin cluster of trees beside the camp. He risked a rise now, slipping into the meagre shelter the trees offered, moving through them with elven silence. Now the trees blocked him from view of most of the camp. He just had to be careful of a stray guard looking in his direction.   
  
He stayed on his feet now, but crouched low to the ground to make his form less obvious. This way he covered ground more swiftly, running as quickly as possible to put the men and his imprisonment behind him.   
  
He never heard the outcry. He was only aware of the pursuit when he heard footsteps behind him, and by then it was too late.   
  
He glanced behind him, and saw perhaps four of the men there, swiftly moving shadows in the darkness. One was closer than the others and made a lunge for Legolas. Legolas side-stepped quickly, grabbing the man's arm and using his weight to throw him to the ground.   
  
He had little chance of outrunning these men, and knew that he'd be better fighting. He just had to hope that his greater experience would be enough over their greater numbers.   
  
A second man seized Legolas' arm. Legolas brought his right foot up and dealt a sure kick to the man's stomach. As he doubled over in pain, a blow to the back of the head sent him sprawling to the ground.   
  
By then another man had reached him. He hurled himself on Legolas, letting his weight knock the elf to the ground. The man was on top of him, a knee in his back pressing Legolas into the earth with such crushing force that it was difficult to breathe.   
  
Legolas' hands scrabbled wildly, trying to find some grip to throw this man off. The man's hands closed tightly, painfully tight, around his wrists, halting the attempt.   
  
"I do not allow anyone to harm my men," came the familiar voice of the lord in Legolas' ear.   
  
Before he could either react or reply, pain cut into Legolas' flesh. It tore into his side with sharp force such as he'd never experienced before. As something heavy fell roughly on top of the wound he cried out, and welcomed the sweet oblivion that rushed to envelope him.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: A slightly longer chapter than the others. I would have updated sooner, but I went on holiday and my computer's not one of those nice, portable ones.   
  
As always, reviews are gladly received. 


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: All those who asked for a quick update: is this quick enough? Trust me, reviewing does do some good. Now I need to go do some stats. Grr. I hate stats. Pure maths is much more interesting, especially when we get the teacher side tracked and discuss mutil-dimensional theory or the proof that all numbers equal zero.   
  
My friend Gemma spent most of flock putting my friend Jen's hair into a Legolas style. I'm not sure why, because Jen isn't even a big Legolas fan, she prefers Pippin and even named her Shetland pony after him, a bit worrying since the pony's a girl. Flock's an informal choir, which doesn't require its members to actually be able to sing in tune. Thankfully there are enough decent singers to drown out the sound of my voice.   
  
***  
  
Pain. So much pain. Pain grasping his wrists and holding them relentlessly behind his back. Pain the clawed at his legs, digging into his flesh. Pain throbbing through his head, clouding his thoughts and numbing his brain. And above all, pain in his side that pulsed with the beating of his heart, clutching with tight fingers at his torso and making it hard to breathe.  
  
There was a swish and crack. Legolas braced himself for the whip's blow, but felt nothing. The swish and crack came again, then again. Harsh, guttural laughter grated at his ears, followed by a voice filled with cruelty.   
  
"Why don't you scream?" the voice mocked, "Scream and we'll let you be? Scream and we'll let you have rest?" Laughter joined the words, and the whip struck again.   
  
Legolas forced himself to open his eyes, the dim light that struck him still to bright. It stabbed into his throbbing head with blades. Still, he had to look. He had to know what was happening.   
  
The sight of the orcs filled him with revulsion. They did not surround him, but there were a large number only a short distance from where he lay, bound cruelly, on the rough ground. A couple of men lay nearby, men of the company who's names Legolas had never discovered. One was clearly wounded, a tear in his shirt soaked with blood. The other was staring at the crowd of orcs.   
  
Legolas turned his attention that direction. Somewhere in the middle was the orc who had spoken, the one with the whip. As the crowd shifted slightly, Legolas was given a brief glimpse of the object of their amusement.   
  
Strung from a tree by arms suspended above his head, his form battered and bloodied, was the men's lord. He looked far less like the lord he was, though his mouth was clamped shut with stubbornness and pride equal to his station. Perhaps Ethindal had been right to compare them, since Legolas knew that he would be doing the same if he were the one strung up like that.   
  
The orcs moved again, still intent on their victim, blocking Legolas' view. The elf glanced round, trying to take stock of the situation. A small stream, that must have flown wider in times past, had worn a rocky gully. At the gully's top foliage leaned across the gap, shadowing the base from the sunlight. Orcs hated the sun, and so must be waiting here for the night to come, choosing to occupy themselves with prisoners.   
  
Legolas looked down at his own form. His hands were obviously bound behind him, rough ropes digging into his skin, cutting off the blood supply to his hands. More ropes wound around his knees and ankles, making it difficult to even move. But most obvious to him was the source of his agony.   
  
An arrow was in his side. It had cut through his flesh completely and remained imbedded. Judging from the blood that stained his tunic, the wound had bleed freely for some time. Dirt and blood clogged the wound. The arrow's tip was dark and sticky with blood and something else. Poison?   
  
Unfortunately, his movements had attracted the attention of at least one of the orcs.   
  
"The pretty's awake," one called out. The crowd shifted so that they could view the prone elf.   
  
"You'll be good for some fun," one of them sneered. There was laughter and a few comments in their own foul tongue. The movement of the crowd allowed Legolas another look at the lord. Despite obvious pain, he was looking straight at Legolas with an intense gaze.   
  
"Given up on me already?" he said. Legolas was puzzled for an instant, wondering why he was saying that to him. It was only when the man went on that he realised the comments were addressed to the orcs. "You know you'll not get what you want from me to you just give in."   
  
Angry growls came from the orcs. Even with his mind fogged by pain, it soon became apparent to Legolas that the human was deliberately goading the orcs. But why? To protect him? Why would he do such a thing at his own expense?   
  
"I never knew there was enough brain in an orc's head to tell when he was beaten," the man went on. The orcs were getting furious now. The orc holding the whip seized the man by the hair roughly.   
  
"You want to protect the pretty elf," the orc said, with more insight than Legolas would have thought possible for one of these creatures. "Maybe you should listen to him scream. Would that hurt you?"   
  
Legolas found himself seized firmly and hauled over to the tree where the man was tied. Bound as he was, he couldn't fight free of their grasps. The arrow in his side was jarred by the movement, until the soaring pain was enough to dim his awareness of his surroundings.   
  
When he was able to focus again, he was bound to the trunk of a tree by ropes round his waist. He was on his feet, but it was really the ropes keeping him upright. They were pressing on his wounded side, driving the arrow further into his torn flesh.   
  
The crack was all the warning he had, then raw fire lay in a line down his back as the whip struck. Sharp hooks in the leather tore had his flesh, cutting through his tender skin. The whip struck again, then again. Legolas bit his lip until the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. He focused as well as he could on this little bit of pain he could control.   
  
His back was weeping crimson. His life flowed in a sticky mess through the tattered remains of his tunic as the whip ate deeper into his flesh. Tears were held back by force of will, screams by pride. He would not let these orcs defeat him. He would not let the man prove better than the elf.   
  
All his screams were inside his mind. None ever passed his lips, which were being cut into by his teeth in order to keep the silence as his back was cut into be the whip. It cracked and struck, cracked and struck, so many times that Legolas ceased to be able to count. It seemed as though his whole world had shrunk to this cocoon of pain and the sound that delivered it. It could have been years that he hung there, listening and feeling, agony coursing his veins to replace the spilt blood.   
  
At last the whip fell silent as the blows ceased to fall. Legolas' head rested against the rough bark, feeling the life of the tree in front of him. His back blazed as though a fire had been set in his flesh. He could still feel the whip, even though it was no longer there. His eyes were closed to block the tears, but his teeth loosened their grip on his lip.   
  
He had never felt such pain.   
  
Living in Mirkwood, he had hunted and fought many foul creatures, but never before had he been tortured by them. Never before had he been taken prisoner in this way. He would make it right. Somehow.   
  
Just as his muscles, held taught from the pain of the blows, began to loosen and relax, insofar as such a thing was possible, a new assault of pain hit him.   
  
Something was pressed against the arrow protruding from his back. Something of such scorching heat that he could smell his flesh burning, skin searing. Heat, burning, blazing heat, reached inside to the very core of his being and crumpled his pride. Stubbornness melted under this onslaught.   
  
He screamed.   
  
He screamed until the sound drowned out the sound of orc laughter. He screamed until his throat was raw. He screamed until his voice was dying in his throat. And still he screamed on.   
  
He was barely aware as they cut him down and flung him to the ground. His voice had given in until he could gasp from the pain. Blurred eyes blinked open dazedly, and saw a face lying nearby.   
  
The man was looking at him. His eyes were filled with moisture, but his cheeks were dry. The emotion behind the restrained tears was partly to do with Legolas, but partly due to something in his hidden past.   
  
"I'm sorry," the man whispered. His voice was barely audible, a futile gesture against the darkness surrounding him. Legolas couldn't tell if he was speaking to him, or to some ghost from a time never to be forgotten. It didn't matter. Legolas managed a weak smile. A thank you for the attempt of help the man had shown him.   
  
As darkness grew up around his vision, Legolas welcomed it, a release from the pain clutching at him. He closed his eyes and let himself fall unconscious, praying that when he returned to the waking world, it would be an improvement.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: All those who thought that the lord was the one who injured Legolas, you should learn not to assume things. Especially when I'm in writing the story.   
  
There's a convention on the seventh of March that I'll be going to, hopefully with a dealer pass so I can get in for free and maybe skip queues. Jen's already said she wants to get the Billy Boyd queue. There are major advantages to making friends with the people in the Movie Store. Admittedly we will actually have to work while we're at the convention, but it'll be much more interesting than my regular work and more rewarding, since the dealer pass is probably worth as much as my normal wages (£2.75 an hour: practically slave labour.)  
  
Lyn, I can't comment on the opinions of anyone else of ff.net, but I'll attempt to answer your questions with my views. I believe that sex isn't something that should be taken lightly. I feel that someone should only sleep with a person they truly love and want to spend their life with. I think that it is the love and commitment that is most important, not the actual marriage. Marriage vows are just confirming what is already in the heart.   
  
I don't condemn other people if they feel differently. Everyone's entitled to their opinion. 


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: The L-plates are off the car! I repeat, the L-plates are off the car! I passed my driving test with only two minors (you're allowed fifteen)! I've only driven on my own on two occasions, to badminton this morning and yesterday so I could catch a bus to school that doesn't take over an hour and frequently turn up three quarters of an hour late. Ah, the joys of British public transport.   
  
I apologise for the shortness of this chapter, but it was the perfect place to end it. For me anyway, maybe not for you.   
  
***  
  
The night was little improvement on the day. Legolas regained consciousness to the sight of the orcs breaking their camp. The human prisoners had their bonds cut and were made to stand, though the one who had been unconscious during the day was barely able to do even that. Legolas soon realised he was to be carried. He wasn't sure if this was because the orcs knew that he wouldn't be able to run, or if they didn't trust him not to try and fight.   
  
They were quite right in their mistrust. Legolas would try and fight if they gave him even half an opportunity, though he doubted he'd stand much chance. The arrow was still piercing his side, and the wound was an unbearable mass of red flesh. It may have been due to the burning brand they had pressed into it, but Legolas suspected that poison on the arrow's tip was now spreading through his side.   
  
Even the slightest movement made him nauseous. His head spun if he tried to lift it. As the orcs tried to haul him into a vaguely upright position his stomach rebelled against his will and emptied itself on the ground. An orc, stupid even for one of his kind, decided that punching Legolas in the gut was a good way to punish him for his body's involuntary actions, and a second bout followed the first.   
  
The movement of these retches aggravated his wound further, and pain threatened to blank out his senses. Every nerve in his side was screaming at him, but no sound passed his own lips.   
  
He was flung onto the back of an orc and the pack of them set off at a run. The men were in the centre of the group, orcs behind them with whips that were used for apparently no real reason.   
  
The gait of the orc carrying Legolas made the journey very unpleasant for the prisoner. Each step sent a fresh jolt of pain through him, compounding the agony already resident in his side. The vile odour of the orc and the sight of its repulsive face would have been enough to make him empty his stomach again, had there been anything left to empty it of.   
  
He was given no food or drink. He wasn't feeling hungry, most likely due to poison, but it meant the foul taste remained in his mouth. He doubted though that anything the orcs gave him would taste any better.   
  
The orcs ran in no set order. They moved positions and shifted places randomly. At one point Legolas was close to the men. The two he didn't know were conserving their breath for running, but the lord was muttering something. Faintly, under his breath, one name was repeated over and over.   
  
"Ethindal," he whispered, "Ethindal. Ethindal." The name was both a prayer and a promise. His chant was giving him hope, and he needed it. Legolas had none left of his own for them.   
  
He didn't know how long they ran for. It might have been only a few hours, but it could have been an age. He was able to focus on nothing but the pain and so was unaware of the passing of either landscape or time.   
  
Suddenly there was a change. A familiar whistle sounded and an orc collapsed. There were shouts from the rest of the pack. Another whistle came, and an arrow embedded itself in an orc's heart. By this time the whole group was in chaos, grabbing their weapon's and searching for the direction of the attack.   
  
Legolas was dumped roughly, and even the ensuing battle wasn't enough to stop him blacking out momentarily from the pain. He began aware of his surroundings again as an orc fell next to him, almost landing on top of him, and sword so close to Legolas it seemed to be taunting him. With his hands behind his back there was no way he could shift to cut his bonds, not injured as he was.   
  
He needn't have worried about it. In moments a familiar face came out of the darkness, and Damial was there to release his hands. Legolas didn't have time to be amazed. The man began to cut the thicker ropes that were tied round Legolas' legs, intent on his task so that he didn't notice the orc looming behind him.   
  
Legolas grabbed the orc-sword beside him, and stabbed at the only part of the orc within reach: the creature's legs. Damial couldn't fail to notice the sudden movement, and spun round to bury his dagger in the foul thing's heart before returning to his task of freeing Legolas.   
  
Legolas struggled to his feet, somehow managing to stay upright, if rather unsteadily. He still held the orc sword, and stared around at the confusion. He was much better with a bow than a sword, so didn't know what use he would be in his current condition.   
  
He half considered fleeing the battle. After all, what happened to these men was none of his concern. He might even be better off if they died.   
  
He stayed though. It was partly because he didn't think he would be able to get far without help, but mainly because of a sense of duty. It would be cowardly to flee now, and he was no coward. Besides, the lord had tried to keep the orcs from hurting him, surely he was owed something.   
  
Almost before this inner debate reached its inevitable conclusion, Legolas found himself forced to fight. He blocked a blow with his stolen sword more through instinct and luck than any sort of skill. He tried to remember the half-forgotten lessons in swordwork and swung at the orc with the heavy, unfamiliar sword.   
  
He somehow managed to draw blood, but the orc threw aside the next blow as though it was nothing. In a sudden movement Legolas' sword was wrenched free of his hand. The loss of balance from this caused him, in his weakened, pain-filled state, to fall.   
  
He struck the ground painfully, warrior's instincts forcing him to roll onto his back. He saw the orc looming over him, black against the night sky. The dark blade of the sword was poised to fall.   
  
It was as though time stood still. Legolas was unable to move, pain from his side now cutting through his entire upper body. A weakness held him like a spider's web, trapping him in blade. The blade moved, and Legolas' eyes followed it as it made its decent, about to cut his body in two.   
  
But it didn't. Another blade blocked the orc's. Legolas blinked, wondering where this sudden aid had come from. The men's lord dispatched the orc quickly and efficiently, with a sword that must, like Legolas', have been taken from a fallen orc. It was already stained black with orc blood, a sure sign of this man's skill with weapons.   
  
The man set about to prove his skill. He spared Legolas a glance, before he turned to one of the enemy that stood nearby. It didn't stand for long. Staying close to the fallen elf, he dealt with any orc that dared to come near. Around him he could see more falling, though a shadow spreading across his vision made it difficult to tell who's side they were on.   
  
Gradually the night stilled. The clang of steel ceased to ring and the night fell silent, except for a few weak groans and the sound of heavy breathing. Everything seemed to be growing darker. Men were moving about him, blurred, indistinct shadows. He lay there, unable to do anything else.   
  
Was this death? Was this the thing the mortal races feared yet could not avoid?   
  
A hand touched his face, felt his wrist. Legolas could not tell who they belonged to. All he could feel was the pain swimming around him, surging up to swallow him and drag him down into darkness.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Please don't kill me! *Ducks a large number of heavy objects.* I didn't mean to do it to him, the muse made me! 


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note: I'm rather disappointed that I haven't had any reviews for the last chapter. If you don't want me to update...  
  
***  
  
His brain was too muddled and confused to make sense of the first noises that crept into his awareness: the small thumps and sounds of things being pushed over and against each other. He could identify the footsteps that came once these had finished. Then came the sound of a door opening and closing. These sounds were gently nudging at his mind to make him awaken, but it wasn't until he heard the sharp click that he came fully conscious.   
  
He blinked himself awake, allowing his eyes to adjust to a world that seemed far too bright. Worry was filling him as he inspected his situation. He knew the sound of a lock when he heard one.   
  
He was lying in an unfamiliar bed in an equally unfamiliar room. Sunlight was coming in through a small window, its progress hindered by thick metal bars. Despite this obvious sign of imprisonment, the room itself was quite pleasant. A small table stood beside the bed, on which stood a glass of water and a simple meal. Another, larger table had some chairs around it. They were hard and wooden, but shaped to be comfortable to the one sitting in them. A cushioned chair was beside the bed, the opposite side to the table, and the soft fabric still bore the imprint of one who had been sitting there until recently. A large chest, engraved with a galloping horse, stood against one wall.   
  
He pushed himself into a sitting position, with some difficulty as his arms didn't seem to want to support him. The blankets slipped down, and Legolas was aware of being naked beneath them. He pulled them up closely around himself in case anyone should walk in through the heavy, oak door.   
  
An aching hunger filled him and refused to be ignored. He decided that the first thing he must do was to devour the meal that had been laid out for him. It was simple enough: bread and cheese and a little fruit, but he was hungry enough to eat anything he was offered.   
  
He reached out, surprised to see that his hand was shaking, and took the glass of water. A little spilled as he brought the glass to his lips, and he was forced to hold it with both hands to steady it. Having drunk deeply, he turned his attention to the food and ate the meagre feast as though he'd never eaten before.   
  
How long had it been since he'd last had a meal? He knew it must be a day at least, but it felt like much more. The food was gone in moments, and he could have gladly eaten another twice the size.   
  
This task done, he turned to the business of clothing. He rose from the bed, discovering a considerable amount of bandaging wrapped around his stomach and side. He covered himself further with a sheet from the bed, holding it around himself as he went to the chest. There were some items of clothing inside, as he had hoped. They were made in human style, and for someone broader than Legolas, but they would do.   
  
He had no problem with the leggings, but the shirt was more difficult. As he tried to put it on, he realised his back was still aching slightly from the whip-welts. He was a little surprised they didn't hurt more, given how they had felt when they were dealt, but they weren't his most significant problem. The wound from the arrow was still hideously painful. The simply act of moving his arm back to find the sleeve of the shirt sent waves of agony through his upper body.   
  
He gave up in the end, sinking down to sit on the bed, the shirt dangling by the sleeve off his left arm. He waited a few moments, letting the pain diminish. Frustrated at being outmatched by a simple shirt, he glared around at his surroundings in the hope that they would somehow explain what he was doing here.   
  
Was this the place the men had been taking him to? Had he been delivered to whomever had been willing to pay so much? He thought that he must have been, otherwise he would still be in the men's camp.   
  
Perhaps he needn't have been so fearful about the situation. True, he was in a cell, but it was not excessively unpleasant. It would have been a very nice room if it weren't for the bars on the window and the heavy lock on the door.   
  
Legolas stood up and went to the window, abandoning the shirt for the moment. The bars were on the inside, allowing him to reach through them and open it. He did this and a cool wind blew into the room, bringing with it the scent of horses and freshly cut grass.   
  
The building he was in must be on a hill, because rooftops were spread out below, dropping down to plains of rolling grassland. In the distance, white peaked mountains thrust their way up into a dark grey sky hung heavy with the threat of rain. A group of riders were making their way across the plains, spears and shields glinting.   
  
He stared out across the bleak landscape, trying to find a name for this place in his memory. He had rarely left Mirkwood before now, and so had little knowledge of the lands that made up Middle Earth. He had, however, sat through enough long periods of boring study to be able to recognise what this land must be from descriptions.   
  
Finally the answer came to him, drifting out of his memory. Rohan. A kingdom of men who enjoyed war and battle. What could they want with him? Why would anyone in Rohan want to pay a thousand gold coins for the prince of Mirkwood? The two realms had little to do with each other.   
  
Perhaps, Legolas thought bleakly, someone was trying to provoke a war with Mirkwood, but there were much cheaper ways of doing so. And if that had been the case, Legolas would probably have found himself in some dank dungeon.   
  
Confused beyond measure, he began to tackle the shirt again. It took him a while, but he managed to get the right sleeve halfway up his arm. This difficult part over with, he paused a moment before beginning to shrug it up onto his shoulder. Then he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He rushed through the final act of dressing, and was doing up the buttons, slightly drawn with pain, when the door was unlocked.   
  
It was the men's lord who entered. He seemed much recovered from his ordeal with the orcs. Any remaining wounds must be hidden beneath his clothes.   
  
He gave Legolas a small scowl. The elf puzzled at this, but the man answered his unasked question with his greeting.   
  
"You should not be exerting yourself."   
  
"Getting dressed is hardly an exertion," Legolas protested.   
  
"It is for one who has spent three days lying near death."   
  
"Three days?" He could hardly believe it, though it did explain the enormity of his hunger and the weakness that had filled his body.   
  
"The poison within you was powerful," the man went on, "and the arrow was inside for a long time, compounding its damage. It is a minor miracle that you still live." Legolas knew without doubt that this man had probably tended him, just as he had tended Damial, and felt a surge of gratitude.   
  
"Thank you," Legolas said.   
  
"For what?"   
  
"For saving my life." Somehow the words didn't seem enough.   
  
"You are worth a thousand gold coins to me," the man said, dismissing his deed in a way that Legolas could not bring himself to believe. This man had defended him, or attempted to at least, when they were prisoners of the orcs. Legolas pointed this fact out.   
  
"Why would you risk your own skin," Legolas asked, "for the sake of gold coins someone might be willing to pay you?"   
  
"It's not the coins I would be risking my skin for," the man answered, "as I have already been paid them. A noble birth does not automatically mean unending wealth, without the money I was given I would never have been able to purchase you."   
  
"You are trusted to do so, even when the money is already in your purse?"   
  
"I gave my word, to deliver you safely or die in the attempt. I did not intend to break my word. Honour was worth the risk of the orcs." Legolas didn't believe this. He'd seen something in the man's eyes, some sign of feeling that meant more than money. He decided to leave it be for now, as there were other, more pressing, questions to be answered.   
  
"Is this the place you are sworn to bring me?"   
  
"No," the lord answered, "this is just a step on the journey, a brief pause while we await your recovery."   
  
"Where is it you are taking me?"   
  
"That you will see when we arrive. Get some rest for now. I will have someone bring you more food." He effectively ended the conversation, allowing no more mention of his actions among the orcs. For some reason this man didn't want to think about the fact that Legolas was in his debt. Didn't want to think that he had saved one of the same race that had betrayed him? Perhaps he was trying to hide this selfless act from his own mind for the sake of pride, but Legolas could not do so. He owed this man his life, however it might wish it otherwise.   
  
As the man opened the door to leave, Legolas spoke, halting him briefly.   
  
"My name," he said, "is Legolas." The man turned back to him, a slight smile forming on his lips.   
  
"I guessed as much," he said, "You look very like your father." Then he was gone, leaving Legolas to ponder over this statement. How could this man know his father? Men were rarely allowed into Mirkwood, except for the occasional traders from Lake Town.   
  
Then a thought entered his mind. A terrible, terrifying thought. Why would this man not want the son of Thranduil indebted to him, unless it was Thranduil himself who was the traitor hidden by the past?   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Nasty? Me? Review or I'll leave you with a whole stack of unanswered questions. 


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: John Rhys-Davies thinks I'm very smart. At least, that's what he put on the autograph he signed for me after my friend and I talked to him for ages about classical archaeology.   
  
We had great fun at the convention yesterday. Being a dealer means you get to go in early (even though most of the people signing autographs didn't actually show up early) so we got to be first in the queues for everything. I was the first person to get Thomas Robins' autograph (he played Deagol). The weird thing is that each one will probably sell in the shop for the same price as the whole pile of pictures he signed.   
  
When we were packing up I had to carry (among other things) a box of signed posters worth £1000 each. If I'd run off with it I'd have had my university fees sorted out. It's amazing how much you can sell a picture with a bit of ink on for. Next time I go to the convention as a dealer I'll buy some autographs to sell on myself now that I've seen just how big the profit margins are on that sort of thing in the shop. The only autographs I've bought that were for me I've had personalised so they don't sell on for as much, though Garry did sell on his poster for over £1000 (he refused to tell us the exact figure) and that was personalised. Admittedly it had about twelve signatures on it.   
  
The convention isn't the only reason I haven't updated. The computer's been annoying and trying to eat my floppy discs instead of just opening them.   
  
***  
  
Legolas again woke to someone moving around in his cell. A servant was bringing a plate of food and placing it on the main table of the room. Legolas sat up as she left, and looked about him. He must have fallen asleep shortly after the man had left him alone. The poison was gone from his system, but his body still needed time and rest to heal. He stretched his muscles experimentally, pleased to find that the pain in his back was all but gone. His side though was another story.   
  
He stood, cautiously, and felt his legs weak beneath him. They supported him though, and without too much pain considering what had happened to him. He crossed to the window and looked out. The world outside was growing darker, with day creeping on towards evening and the sun making one last, valiant effort to break through the clouds, sending a handful of golden rays down to the horizon. He must have been asleep several hours.   
  
Legolas then paid attention to his body's needs, and went to the table and his food. He ate it gratefully, only realising halfway through his meal that he hadn't heard the sound of the lock as she had left. He told himself he was probably mistaken, he would find the door securely fastened if he checked. But it was not enough to tell himself that.   
  
Abandoning the rest of the food, since his curiosity would not let it rest until he learned the truth, he went to the door. It opened easily as he turned the handle and there were no guards outside to halt his progress. He was curious as to how a servant could be so foolish as to leave a prisoner's door open, but decided not to question his fortune. He checked quickly the knife he had been left with his dinner, but left it on the table. It was too blunt to be any use as a weapon. Fortune had given his something, but not everything.   
  
He made his way along a short corridor, walking slowly and carefully, wary of the pain in his side that throbbed with each movement he made. He could walk without aid though, and that was enough. He slowed his pace further as he neared the end of the corridor, listening intently to the sounds coming from up ahead. A bright, childish voice was talking rapidly in a language Legolas didn't understand. Laughter joined the child's voice, from more than one source. Legolas stopped within the shadow of the corridor, and, half-hidden in the dim light, looked out into a large hall.   
  
A young boy was waving a stick around, possibly in an attempt to imitate a sword, telling some tale or other. As well as Legolas could judge human ages, he appeared about five or six years old. A young, richly dressed lady was the child's audience, laughing at his antics, and beside her stood the men's lord. He was smiling down at the child, clearly find the story humorous, but even for where he stood, Legolas could see there was sadness in his eyes that the smile couldn't erase.   
  
Legolas shifted slightly in the shadows, unsure now of what to do. He could see a doorway outside, but reaching it would mean crossing the hall and passing the man. The man in question looked up at the slight movement to where Legolas stood, meeting his gaze. He didn't seem angry to find Legolas free.   
  
Legolas hesitated a moment, unsure of whether he should run. He doubted he'd get very far. Even with elven healing, his side was extremely painful. Those moments were all it took for the men's lord to say something to the boy and walk to where Legolas stood.   
  
"You should be resting," he said simply.   
  
"The door was unlocked," Legolas replied.   
  
"That doesn't mean you should be wandering around with your injuries. I'll take you back to your room." Legolas noted that he didn't get a say in the matter.   
  
The man put a hand on Legolas' shoulder and began to lead him back, when the boy called out something in his own language. The man turned and responded, leaving Legolas wondering how many languages he was a master of, since he spoke to the slavers with as much ease as he spoke to these Rohirrim.   
  
"A fine child," the man commented as they walked away, speaking mainly to himself, "my son would have been another much like him."   
  
"You can't know that," Legolas said.   
  
"I do know that."   
  
"How?"   
  
There was a pause before the man spoke again, and Legolas thought when he did that he'd changed the subject. "Have you ever been to Lothlorien?"   
  
"No," Legolas told him, "though I've often wished to go."   
  
"The Lady Galadrial has a mirror which allows her to see many things, past, present and future, distant places and forgotten dreams. I looked into that mirror, shortly after I was betrayed, and saw the wedding that would never take place, the child that would never be born. I saw my son and loved him, though I'll never see his birth. I often wonder if it would have been better if I'd never looked. Then I would never know what my life is lacking."   
  
By this time they had returned to Legolas' cell and gone inside, though the man made no move to lock the door. Legolas was too curious to deal with that now, instead he focussed on the questions the man's admission was raising.   
  
"It's surprising for a human to be allowed into an elven realm, especially one such as Lothlorien," he said.   
  
"I've been to Lothlorien, the Grey Havens, even Mirkwood on occasion."   
  
"Mirkwood?" Legolas couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. Only rarely did men enter Mirkwood, and they were just traders from Laketown. For this lord claim to have visited was ludicrous.   
  
The man sat down on the chair and Legolas sat on the bed, waiting for some explanation. The man clearly understood the question Legolas was too amazed to ask and was thinking of the best way to answer.   
  
"Almost two months ago," the man said at last, "I was given a message by a friend of mine, Gandalf, known to your people as Mithrandir." Legolas nodded, knowing the Istari well. "He told me that King Thranduil of Mirkwood wished to speak with me. You can understand my curiosity at such a request, so I went, and he told me that he had a task he wished me to complete.   
  
"He told me that a Mirkwood elf had travelled south only to be attacked. How he knew this, he didn't say. He simply said that he wanted me to journey south, find you and return you to Mirkwood. He told me that he suspected you had been captured by the slavers in the south, and that I might be able to buy you, but he refused to tell me anything about you, what your purpose in that land was or even your name.   
  
"I decided that there were three possibilities. First, that you were a criminal who had done something so terrible he wanted you to face trial for it and suffer a punishment worse than slavery." Legolas tensed at this insult, but allowed the man to continue.   
  
"The second possibility was that you were on some mission to the south that was important to Mirkwood, and King Thranduil need to know if it had succeeded.  
  
"Or," the man went on, "as I felt more likely, you were someone dear to King Thranduil. Since neither of you would give me a name, I had to assume you were an enemy. I suspected you to be the king's son, but until you confirmed my guess, I couldn't let you walk free."   
  
"And now?" Legolas inquired.   
  
"And now, I trust that you will continue the journey north with my company without the need for ropes and restraints."   
  
"I was sent into the south to deliver a message to the leader of the Haradrim," Legolas said, "What that message was I will not share even with one who has saved my life. On my return I was attacked, and so outnumbered that I didn't stand a chance. I fought as well as I was able, but was captured. My horse, however, got free. He is intelligent enough to find his way home to my father. That is most likely how he knows I was taken prisoner."   
  
"So now we both have our answers," the man commented. He stood to leave, but as before Legolas called him back.   
  
"May I know your name?" he asked.   
  
"Aragorn," the man answered, "son of Arathorn of the Dunedain." Legolas thought over what he had been told in the past few minutes.   
  
"Since you now know who I am," Legolas said, "and know that I can be trusted, surely I can be offered the same. Will you tell me of yourself?"   
  
"What would you know?"   
  
"The name of the one who betrayed you."   
  
There was a silence. Aragorn's face was lowered, his gaze fixed to the floor so Legolas couldn't tell what he was thinking. When the man finally looked up, there was such grief in his eyes that Legolas wished he would look anywhere else.   
  
"That is something I will share with no one. Even to Ethindal, who I am sure has many suspicions on the subject, I will not speak his name. The identity of the one who betrayed me will never be known for certain by any save myself."   
  
"But why? Why protect him if he did such terrible things?"   
  
"Because not all of them were terrible," Aragorn answered after a moments recollection, "The death of my unborn child I will never forgive, but everything else he did I can understand. He was doing what he believed to be best, and I can see why he felt that way." There was a long pause, "Sometimes think that he may have been right."   
  
Legolas was bewildered completely. Having seen the anger this man felt over his betrayal, Legolas would not have thought he could sympathise, especially not to the extent of saying this traitor might have been right. Legolas was unable to speak for some moments from the shock. By the time he had recovered the man was almost gone.   
  
"You said you had visited elven realms," Legolas asked his final question, "but you didn't name Rivendell."   
  
The man didn't face Legolas, so the elf couldn't see his expression. He stood for a long while, completely motionless, half-way out the door. He didn't even turn round when he finally answered the question.   
  
"No," the man said quietly, "I have never visited Rivendell."   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Confused? Good. I couldn't answer your questions without giving you a few more to puzzle over. I know quite a few of you guessed that the lord was Aragorn, but there are some enigmas I don't think you'll guess so easily. If you do, I'll be very disappointed. 


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, it wasn't Aragorn who came to visit Legolas, but the girl, Eltha. The clothes she had worn on their journey had been exchanged for a well-made dress of pale green. She knocked cautiously, but burst into a grin when she saw Legolas standing at the window.   
  
"Are you..." she began, then broke off, "I was worried."   
  
"You need worry no longer," Legolas said, "I will be well."   
  
"I heard the men talking," Eltha said, "they say that you are not a prisoner any more."   
  
"That's correct, though I think I will still travel with them when they leave."   
  
"I wish we had such a choice." Eltha sat down on the bed. A little unsure of how to act towards one so young, especially one of another race, Legolas sat next to her.   
  
"I think the men will treat you well," he said.   
  
Eltha nodded. "I think so too. But what if we're wrong? They let us wander where we like here, within reason. Should I be trying to get away from here with Marly?"   
  
"I can make no decisions for yourself or your brother. I can only say what I believe, and I believe that Aragorn was being honest when he said he intended to set you free."   
  
There was a silence. "What happened to you?" Eltha asked at last. Legolas looked at her, puzzled, unsure what specifically she meant. She read his expression and explained, "When you tried to escape, some of the men went after you. No one came back, and Ethindal became very worried. He made some of the men stay with us at the wagons, and took the rest out. No one will tell us why you came back hurt."   
  
"I'm not certain you would want to hear it," Legolas replied, thinking that the men would surely know their own kind better and be able to judge if this child was fit to learn the truth.   
  
"I'm twelve years old," Eltha protested, "I'm not a baby."   
  
Legolas almost laughed. "Among elves, a twelve year old still is a baby."   
  
"Well, I'm not an elf! I've had to look after my brother all by myself since Mother died, while Father tried to earn enough money to keep us alive and out of slavery. I'm as good as a grown up!"   
  
"I still don't think I'm the right person to decide what you know."   
  
"And they are?" She jerked her head in the direction of the door.   
  
"Perhaps," Legolas said, "They are only doing this to protect you, and I think that is another sign that you will be well treated by them."   
  
"I don't think it's treating us well to keep things from us."   
  
"Perhaps, if you one day have children of your own, you will think differently." Both elf and girl looked up to the owner of this new voice. Aragorn was standing in the doorway, having heard the end of this exchange.   
  
"May I speak with Legolas alone?" Aragorn asked.   
  
Eltha looked at Legolas. "Legolas? That's your name?" Legolas nodded. "It's pretty." With that she disappeared and Aragorn walked into the room fully. He was holding in his hand an ash bow, which he held out towards Legolas. Legolas took it and inspected it carefully.   
  
It was shaped to fit the hand of the archer, with either end of the bow carved into the image of a horse's head so that when the bow was bent the string would thread between the ears and into the mouth. It was a beautiful weapon.   
  
"A bow worthy of a Prince of Mirkwood?" Aragorn inquired.   
  
"It's for me?" Legolas asked.   
  
"You need not travel unarmed when we continue our journey. There will be a full quiver to match it when we leave here."   
  
"Thank you," Legolas said, feeling that it was somehow inadequate to express his gratitude for this gift. "Why?"   
  
"The bow is an apology," Aragorn answered, "for the way you have been treated so far by my company."   
  
"I have been treated far better than I thought I would be when I was in that slaver's den," Legolas informed him.   
  
"Nonetheless, I feel I should give you something. After all, it is your father's money buying this weapon. Nearly all of that gold is gone now. I used most of it buying you and the children. But I have enough left for this bow, and to provide you with a horse for the remainder of the journey."   
  
"Thank you," Legolas said again.   
  
"It's nothing." He left again, and Legolas sat alone in the room, thinking of his home and his father. It was very surprising that King Thranduil would deal with humans, especially when his son's life was at stake. Lord Aragorn was clearly honourable, but many of his kind were not. How could the king be certain that Aragorn would do as he said, especially when the money was given in advance?   
  
So many questions were as yet unanswered. Above them all rose the question of the elf who had betrayed Aragorn, and Aragorn's strange protection of him.   
  
***  
  
The company rested three more days in Edoras, waiting for Legolas' wounds to vanish completely. Legolas discovered he was free to walk around the town, though Aragorn kept appearing wherever he went. Legolas wasn't certain if the man was checking to make sure his injuries weren't taking their toll, or if he was afraid that Legolas might try to flee.   
  
Legolas met the horse that Aragorn had purchased for the elf's use on the journey. He wasn't the most handsome beast in the stables, but his eyes boasted a sharp intelligence and the horse was lively with spirit. Legolas felt the man had made a good choice, the choice Legolas himself would have made, and wondered at the man's knowledge of horses.   
  
Legolas also encountered the little boy who had been talking to Aragorn. Or rather, talking at him. Legolas discovered rather quickly that the child wasn't interested in conversation, but simply wanted to babble at anyone who'd stand still long enough to listen. He spoke the common tongue readily enough, though sometimes would lapse back into his own language, without making any accommodation for the fact that Legolas didn't understand him.   
  
The boy, it seemed, was the son of the king. The prince, Theoden, was constantly talking about the battles the current king, Thingal, had fought. Theoden kept boasting that when he crew up he'd be as good with a sword as his father. Legolas rather doubted this, unless he learned that a sword shouldn't be waved around wildly as he was rather insistent on doing with a stick, spoon or any other object that happened to be lying within his reach.   
  
Legolas was rather surprised to be rescued from Theoden by Eltha. She asked the prince, since he was such a great warrior, if he could show her how to use a sword. Legolas watched them fencing with sticks for a short while, and discovered that it was in fact Eltha who was making helpful comments. Any half-decent warrior would have knocked her flat in an instant, but she did know something about fighting, it seemed, though where she'd learned it Legolas couldn't have guessed.   
  
Aragorn came across the group, no doubt making one of his regular checks on Legolas, and ended up joining in the lesson. Some might have hesitated about teaching a girl, but Eltha seemed as eager to learn as Theoden, and far more willing to listen.   
  
When the three days came to an end, Aragorn pronounced that Legolas was fit to travel. Legolas felt he'd been fit the day before, but Aragorn wouldn't let his decision be questioned.   
  
Legolas felt glad leaving the town, riding a horse of his own instead of being bound in the wagon, with a bow strapped across his back. He felt far more like the Prince of Mirkwood than he had done since his capture. He was here because he chose to be, and that filled his heart with joy. He was free. Better than that, he was going home.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Another short chapter, sorry. And as for the cliffhanger. . . it's not even a milddrophanger. I'll just have to do a really nasty cliffhanger in the next chapter. If not, I suppose I can make up for it at the end of the story. I've got a really, really nasty one planned for then.   
  
I needed to bring Eltha into the story more. She's barely had a mention and she's going to be very important in the sequel. 


	12. Chapter 12

Time seemed to go by much more quickly now that Legolas wasn't a prisoner. Perhaps it was because he was getting to know the horse he rode. Perhaps it was because the men were more willing to talk to him now. Or perhaps it was simply because of the optimism that lightened his heart.   
  
Two days sped by quickly as the company sped north. Much of that time was spent talking to Damial, who seemed considerably happier with his position after the battle with the orcs. Apparently he had had some hand in tracking the band that had held Legolas and Aragorn prisoner.   
  
Damial talked freely about his training as a Ranger of the North, which was almost complete now. Legolas had heard of these men, but only in whispered stories that often spoke ill of them. Now he was learning the truth, and was gaining considerable respect for this group of people who fought the forces of darkness and gained nothing but distrust for their efforts.   
  
After listening in on their conversations occasionally, Eltha declared that she wanted to be a Ranger. Legolas expected the men to dismiss this, but instead Aragorn smiled at her and said that anyone who could sneak past someone he'd trained deserved to be a Ranger.   
  
As the company was setting up camp on the eve of the second day, a horse approached, coming out of the north. For half a moment Legolas wondered if it was an elf sent by his father to learn what was happening. Almost immediately though, he saw that it wasn't an elf but an old man. Or rather, someone who looked like an old man.   
  
Mithrandir dismounted with more skill than many of half his appearance of age, warmly greeted by Aragorn. The man hugged the wizard violently before demanding why he was there.   
  
"I have some information that I think you would like to hear," Mithrandir answered. "Privately," he added, glancing at the company of men, and Legolas in particular.   
  
Aragorn and Mithrandir walked a short distance from the company, while the rest of the men continued the task of setting up camp. Legolas felt a little annoyed that Mithrandir hadn't even acknowledged his presence. Legolas had always considered the wizard a friend, but it barely seemed as though Mithrandir had noticed him. He was completely focused on Aragorn, while Legolas was the one who had almost been sold into slavery.   
  
Legolas realised suddenly how petty his thoughts were becoming, and almost laughed at himself. If Mithrandir had some important news, it was only right he should tell the one it was meant for.   
  
A few minutes later, wizard and man returned to camp. Aragorn's face was skilfully blank, which made Legolas suspect that the news received was grave.   
  
"I don't suppose you'd take care of an errant prince," Aragorn said, with a wry smile and a glance at Legolas.   
  
"No," Mithrandir replied, "I have my own business to take care of. I cannot always be aided you in your errands. I will stay here for one night, but then I must go my own direction."   
  
"As you always do," Aragorn commented, receiving a nod in reply.   
  
"What news do you bring?" Legolas asked, when Aragorn left to see to something.   
  
"For you? None," Mithrandir answered, "save that your father is worried about you."   
  
"I do not need to be informed of that," Legolas laughed.   
  
"The news I brought was for Aragorn."   
  
"How well do you know him?" Legolas asked, hoping that the wizard, who seemed to know everything about everyone else's business, would be able to answer the questions Legolas was filled with.   
  
"I know him well enough," Mithrandir replied, "I knew his father as well, before he died. He is a good man, and will make you a very good friend if you let him."   
  
"Do you know about his past?"   
  
"You are walking on dangerous ground. A single misstep could cause a chasm to form that the elves would never recover from." This statement, cryptic and vague, was as much as Legolas should have expected from Mithrandir. Wise as he was, he rarely shared his knowledge except in riddles.   
  
"What do you mean?" Legolas asked.   
  
"I mean that sometimes the events of the past are best left there. You could do a great deal of harm by uncovering them."   
  
"And if that is meant to sate my curiosity, I'm afraid that you have failed in your attempt, Mithrandir." The wizard merely laughed at that.   
  
***  
  
Mithrandir left early the next day, just as the men were breaking camp. He rode off south-west, with only a brief farewell to Aragorn and Legolas.   
  
"Try to forget your curiosity," Mithrandir had warned Legolas, "only grief will come from revealing those secrets Aragorn hides." Then he was gone.   
  
Aragorn was slightly distracted in the wake of Mithrandir's news. He was so focussed on his thoughts that he seemed almost unaware of the surrounding world. The other men, taking their lead from their lord, became increasingly anxious.   
  
"What news did Gandalf bring?" Ethindal asked Aragorn, "What is worrying you so?"   
  
"Not here," Aragorn answered, "We must first see our charge home, then I will explain."   
  
"I can make the rest of the way alone," Legolas said, "you have done more than enough for me already."   
  
"No," Aragorn said firmly, "I swore to your father that I would see you safely back to Mirkwood, and I will do just that. I will not become an oath-breaker. Not for their sake." He refused to explain who the final comment had been referring to, either to Ethindal or Legolas.   
  
The horses seemed to pick up something of their masters' unease, for they found new strengths from somewhere and the landscape sped by even faster than before. Aragorn was being driven on by a need to be rid of Legolas so that he could be away, making Legolas more curious than ever about the new Mithrandir had brought. Whatever it was must be urgent, and Legolas felt badly about keeping Aragorn from attending to it.   
  
Still, they did not have long to wait. After a further two days of hasty travel and little rest, a dark shadow began growing on the northern horizon. Legolas fancied that he could hear the trees singing to him across the distance. The distance was such that they couldn't cross it in one day, but still Legolas was in sight of his home.   
  
"If we enter the forest this far south," Aragorn said as they made camp that night, "we may pass close by Dol Guldur." His statement was rich with unspoken questions, which Legolas understood nonetheless.   
  
"The White Council have banished the shadow that dwelt there," Legolas said, "but there are still many foul things in that region. Further north, in the forest surrounding our homes, we are driving back the servants of darkness and restoring Mirkwood to the place it once was, when it was Greenwood the Great."   
  
"Then we will enter the forest further north," Aragorn accepted Legolas' description, "there is no sense in exposing ourselves to more danger than necessary."   
  
He moved away then, and Legolas lay down to sleep. His eyes faced northwards, but the night hid the trees now. He awoke in the morning, his eyes still fixed on the treeline, feeling comforted by the presence and closeness.   
  
The company rode onwards, reaching the trees and riding north along the western boarder of the forest. They could ride faster by far in the open than they could have done beneath the trees, and Legolas could tell that many of the men wished to prolong the journey outside the forest as long as possible. They looked suspiciously at the dark trees, dense undergrowth and deep shadows. Legolas understood. Mirkwood was not like Rivendell, with its wide, open spaces and trickling streams, its flowers and its fruit trees. Mirkwood's own, wild beauty was harder to see, save for those to whom it was home.   
  
They travelled along the forest boarder for most of a day, before they reached a small path. There were few roads through the trees, but the smaller paths were easily navigable by those who knew where to look for them. Legolas knew which path this was, and knew that they could easily skirt Dol Guldur and all the venomous things that surrounded it.   
  
He told this to Aragorn, who decreed that they should rest for the night and attempt the entry to the forest in full daylight. Legolas was surprised by this, since up to this point he had seemed anxious to hurry the journey. Why delay now?   
  
Still, it was growing towards evening already, so it was not so long a wait. Legolas slept better that night than any previous night of their journey, comforted by the song of the trees that reached out to envelop him. The song contained memories of long ago, a time when all had been bright and clean, when blossom had hung in garlands from the trees, when birds and beasts had dwelt beneath the trees unafraid. The trees sang of home.   
  
They had only made it a short distance under the trees the next day, riding single file along the narrow path, when Aragorn pulled his horse to a halt. He looked around him uneasily. Several horses behind him, Legolas sensed the same disturbance, almost concealed.   
  
He felt rather than heard the movement. Too late. A mass of arrows were aimed at each member of the company.   
  
***  
  
Author's Note: The delay for this chapter was caused by my novel. I'm struggling with the name at the moment (the worst part of writing any story). Which title do you think is best? Phoenix Fire, Syra of the Sanners Val, or Crystal Heart.   
  
All answers will mean I have to spend less time worrying about that and have more time free to write this. 


	13. Chapter 13

"State your business in Mirkwood," a voice demanded from behind the wall of arrows.   
  
"The king's business," Legolas answered, before Aragorn had a chance to.   
  
There was a murmur, and the arrows were lowered. An elven hunter, clearly the captain of this group, bowed his head in apology.   
  
"I am sorry, Prince Legolas," he said, "I did not realise you were among this company of men."   
  
"I would not think to look for myself in their company either," Legolas acknowledged, "now let us pass."   
  
"Of course, your highness." The elves parted, melting into the trees as silent shadows. The men rode on a short way, and Legolas was aware that one of the elven guardians was trailing them. He saw Aragorn glance over his shoulder, and guessed that the man had also noticed their shadow. He must have sharp ears, for a human.   
  
The path ran through a large clearing, and here Aragorn stopped, his men gathering round him. They were only a short distance into the forest, but Legolas was already beginning to feel at home.   
  
"I gave my word to see you safely to Mirkwood," Aragorn said, "this I have done. Now I must leave to attend to business of my own. I trust that you will find your way safely home from here."   
  
"I can," Legolas answered.   
  
"Surely we can't just leave him unprotected in this place," Ethindal protested. The children looked nervously around at the forest, as though expecting monsters to jump out of the trees.   
  
"He will not be unprotected," Aragorn stated, "there have been elven soldiers following us since we arrived. They know this forest far better than we do, and will certainly do a better job of protecting the prince from its dangers than we can."   
  
"Thank you," Legolas said, clasping the man's hand, "Know that you will always be welcome in Mirkwood. I hope you will come and visit often, so that I have a chance to repay the debt I am in."   
  
"I will visit gladly," Aragorn answered, "as often as my duties allow it." Legolas said his farewells to Damial and Eltha, then Aragorn led the men back along the path. Legolas stood alone beneath the ancient trees. Well, almost.   
  
"If you are going to be accompanying me to the palace," Legolas said, "you might as well show yourself so that we might have some conversation on the trek." A silver-haired elf came out of the trees, bowing with respect.   
  
"Tell me all that has happened in Mirkwood during my absence," Legolas ordered. The elf spoke, but it seemed that very little had transpired. In an elven realm, events of note were often well spaced, since elves had just long lives for events to occur over. It seemed strange that so much had happened to him, while so little had happened at home. But what was clear was that King Thranduil had been frantic with worry over his son.   
  
Legolas was all the more glad to arrive at the palace because of this news. His usually withdrawn father showed an unprecedented amount of emotion over Legolas' return, even lowering himself to hug his son.   
  
"Where are the men I sent?" Thranduil asked.   
  
"They had to leave on urgent business," Legolas answered, "but they insisted on seeing me far enough into Mirkwood to be met by a patrol." He nodded towards the elf beside him.   
  
"Legolas!" a voice called down the steps of the palace.   
  
"You should know better than to go and get into trouble," an identical voice said, as two identical elves appeared.   
  
"At least without us to share in the excitement," the first added. The twin sons of Elrond grinned at Legolas.   
  
"Tell us everything!" they demanded.   
  
"Not now," King Thranduil interrupted, "There are matters I must discuss with my son in private. He can share his tale with you later." He put a hand on Legolas' shoulder to lead him into the palace, but the twin's voices followed.   
  
"Try not to get kidnapped or killed before then."   
  
"We want to hear all the details." Legolas felt free to grin, since the twins couldn't see his expression. Once they reached his father's study, his expression became more sober, as did the subject of conversation.   
  
"What news do you bring from the south?" Thranduil asked.   
  
"The Haradrim claimed not to believe our warning," Legolas answered, "though I believe they not only believed but had already heard it from another."   
  
"Whom do you suspect?"   
  
"I suspect messengers of Sauron have already visited the lands that allied with him of old."   
  
"Then you now feel certain that the evil the White Council drove from Dol Guldur and the ancient enemy are one and the same."   
  
"I can't doubt it, and the number of orcs we encountered on our journey north prove that his forces are growing and becoming more confident in their roving. Sauron has returned, his armies are growing in preparation for war, and when that war comes the Haradrim will be riding with him."   
  
"Our messengers to the west report that they will not be the only ones. Men, as ever, are proving their weakness and siding with the force they feel greatest, no matter how evil it may be."   
  
"Not all men," Legolas countered, "What of the Dunedain?"   
  
"Lord Aragorn is the finest example of that race," Thranduil answered, "because of the elven blood that flows in his veins. But there are none equal to him, and few that even come close. I fear we cannot even count on Gondor when this new war dawns."   
  
"The elves will not be easily defeated," Legolas said, with more confidence than he felt. Mirkwood had been struggling for centuries with the fight in its land, and always the darkness seemed to creep closer about their dwellings. It was all they could do to hold back the tide, they could not fight a war as well. Rivendell and Lothlorien, under the protection of their Rings, were not used to battles.   
  
If Sauron chose to attack them, the elves could easily be destroyed.   
  
***  
  
Legolas' mood had cheered somewhat from his gloomy discussion with his father. He and the twins were sitting in the gardens as he told them everything that had happened to him since his enslaving. They teased him over his stubbornness and refusal to give up his name. With the wisdom of hindsight, Legolas could agree that it might have been easier if he'd just told Aragorn, but at the time it had seemed best.   
  
They were curious to know why Thranduil had sent men rather than elves to get him out.   
  
"In the lands were I was travelling, the men considered all other races inferior, and so wouldn't trade with them. Any elves my father sent would be as likely to be sold themselves as to buy my freedom. And Father couldn't free me by force without risking a war we can ill-afford to fight." Especially with the threat of Sauron, he added to himself.   
  
"It just seems strange that your father would trust a human, even one of the Dunedain," Elrohir said.   
  
"What was the man's name again?" Elladan asked.   
  
"Aragorn," Legolas replied, "Why? Do you know him?"   
  
"No," Elladan answered.   
  
"No," Elrohir agreed, "we've never met him."   
  
THE END  
  
Author's note: Bet you weren't expecting that! And I'd just like to point out, for the record, that this isn't an AU. The truth is far more sinister than that. . .   
  
I'll try and be quick with the sequel. Reviews may speed up the process. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed this story. If you left your email address, I did try to get back to you, but sometimes time didn't allow it. If I never got back to you, I apologise. You're still appreciated. 


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